Aetas
by RoverGirl
Summary: Second Person narrative. Trapped in a small cabin aboard an alien vessel with a badly injured Lt Reed, Captain Archer knows time is ticking by. But are they running out of it?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This is a non profit fan based fiction.

This story has not been viewed by a Beta-Reader. Any and all mistakes are purely my own.

* * *

Watch the clock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Hear the clock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

The sound of it is maddening and the best part about it? It's your only company for the time being.

Your only blasted company in here until he regains consciousness.

It's not like you can just go and stretch your legs for a while either. There's not even enough room to stand up properly! You have to squat down to even fit in this cabin!

Space. It consists of billions upon billions of stars and planets and species and life forms and you, Captain Archer, you just happen to come across a species of alien that stand at 1.45 metres at their tallest, only Hoshi could stand up straight aboard their vessel, in fact she was right at home aboard their cosy low ceilinged vessel whilst you and everyone else had sore necks after an hour or so.

Well you are an explorer.

Exploring new cultures is one of the rules of the game.

Why did you accept this posting again?

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Keeps. Going. The. Clock.

A constant companion that just won't shut up!

This species appreciates the niceties of sound. They especially like mechanical sounds, new sounds, new voices and they find the regular tick tock tick tock soothing.

The Trollarians like fine details also.

They adore craftsmanship and that's one thing you noticed simply by the design of their vessel.

A vibrant shade of purple dashed with blue stripes and spots.

You'd later learn that the shade and style was regulation for all Trollarian science vessels.

Their vessel had been immobilised by pirates and they'd sent out a distress call which you had responded to.

You'd admired these rather energetic and lively aliens.

Their hair colour and skin colouration were light gold and all wore tailored uniforms made of a hard-during yet lightweight blue material. You quickly learned the deeper the hue the higher up the command chain a Trollarian was.

They'd seemed a peaceful enough species, inviting you over with delight, preparing a meal in your honour, even attempting to replicate meals you knew after the chef had sent them some recipes over to try.

Their variation of apple pie wasn't that far off and their attempt at pizza was comical and entertaining as they tried to wrap their heads around the notion of how exactly to eat a big round circle of sauce smeared bread and toppings!

And of course there were their own dishes which were delightful and a treat.

Some of the dishes looked too beautiful and well crafted to be eaten yet they encouraged you, Hoshi, Trip and Malcolm to tuck in and you couldn't get your head around how much they ate! They ate more than Trip when he was starving!

And yes their vessel was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Silver and glittery panels decorated the entirety of the ship, all crafted to the highest level and every button and switch made a delicate beautiful sound and every panel had symbols or stories carved into them.

It was like stepping into a fairytale of sorts.

Hoshi and Tucker were having a field day. You all were.

Trip managed to repair the engines and get the ship moving again and then came the return invitation and that, Captain Archer, was one of your craziest ideas to date as you came top realise.

It could be easily summed up in five words: The Trollarians _really_ loved Enterprise.

Every crew member was greeted warmly. Every noise amazed them. They'd explored almost every inch of Enterprise they were allowed to see, asking so many questions and the crew loved them and Porthos too. They really liked Porthos. It was easily one of the most humorous first encounters you'd ever been involved with. Even Malcolm was enjoying himself to a great degree and T'Pol actually cracked a slight smile.

And then of course meal time and introducing the Trollarians to human and some Vulcan cuisine and the Trollarians loved it all.

They particularly liked carrot sticks and actual pizza once they'd come to terms with how to eat it and then Trip introduced them to chocolate cake and that became the number one favourite dish.

All in all a successful first encounter.

The Trollarians went back to their vessel and invited Enterprise to join them as they charted a newly discovered comet.

Of course you agreed to join them.

Of course you did.

Just exploring afterall and these aliens wouldn't cause any harm.

Right?

Right, Captain?

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

It grates on your nerves.

The darn thing is built into the metallic walls, engraved in an elaborate design depicting what look like sea serpents, and there is nothing to smash it with within the small cramped cabin. You'd tried your fist but the supposed glass wouldn't give. It was tougher than you'd anticipated and you've got the bruises to prove it.

The low bed in the room takes up most of the room and Malcolm is sprawled across that. There's nothing you can do really except keep on an eye on him and that's only a reminder of how much danger you're both are in. There's light in the room from small fairy lights so you can see around you, not that there's much to see aside from the clock and Malcolm.

The Trollarian captain said you'd be safe in this hiding cabin but to you it's more of a broom cupboard. You couldn't even imagine putting Porthos in here! It's simply not big enough for you and your injured armoury officer and you laugh at the absurdity of your present situation.

You can't help it.

Why does crazy stuff like this always happen to you?

You check Malcolm's injuries once more, briefly peeling back the large sticky luminescent green patch one of the healers had hurriedly placed over his chest. The patch is stained red and yellow from his blood and the antiseptic solution within the patch and you can't tell if it's actually helping Malcolm or not. He's still in full uniform and the solution within the patch has absorbed into his uniform creating a wet damp patch across the front of it. But his breathing is steady and his pulse is there so you reckon he's okay for now. Though you're sure that Malcolm when he eventually comes to isn't going to be amused in the slightest with your predicament nor pleased with the prospect of spending more time in Sickbay.

If he actually wakes up a quiet voice in your head tells you.

No.

You shove that voice to the back of your mind.

Of course Malcolm will be okay.

Of course he'll make it.

He's got to make it.

He wouldn't dare abandon his duty.

Abandon his captain.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You think about how this came to be.

How did charting a comet equate to being stuck in a sensor proof tiny cabin not made for human parameters?

Well at least the Trollarians _are_ trying to make amends for their actions and get both of you back to Enterprise. But you just simply want to put as many light years between your crew and the Trollarians as physically possible. Get away from this species so you're no longer involved in their fight.

And that's the reason right there.

Another vessel had showed up unannounced during your joint surveying and immediately fired on Enterprise and then the Trollarian vessel, disabling both your ships.

The Trollarians came on the comm link, ordering you to get away but their warnings were in vain and unattainable; Enterprise was boarded.

Four soldier beamed directly onto the bridge, striking down Malcolm who'd immediately leapt to his feet to attack and defend. A further red shot from some sort of phase rifle ensured he was disabled and out for the count.

You'd tried to defend your crew member but they shot you too.

Your world had gone black and when consciousness returned to you, you awoke on a cold smooth surface in a holding cell of sorts. Red barbed bars encased you in a hexagon cell in a darkened room. There was no sign of Malcolm anywhere. You were told the bars were electrified by an alien out of your sight range and it was probably a good idea not to touch them, so you didn't.

Turned out this species you never got the name of were sworn enemies of the Trollarians! And as you learnt the whole species were guilty of stealing technology and resources on a planetary scale and this species had been forced to adapt to a more militant way of survival as a result.

This other species kept well covered, encased from head to toe in dull black armour; the masks carved into a hideous and terrifying faces.

And they were tall.

Very tall and bulky when three of them came into sight.

You'd dared ask the question how the Trollarians stole technology and were threatened with your life.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you'd developed the hypothesis that the two species were actually related with one species dominating the other though kept it to yourself.

At some point they'd opened your cage and half dragged you into a much smaller yet equally darkened room and sat you down at silver table opposite one of this species.

Standard questions really, even actually polite and of course you answered honestly.

Who you are? Where do you come from? What is your purpose? Why are you here? What is your vessel? What species are you? What business to you have with the Trollarians? Why are you so far from home? Do you have an idea who the Trollarians are?

No punches. No nothing.

This being who was referred to by his subordinates as 'General' was pissed off with you that you'd interacted with the Trollarians politely after all his species had endured but after explaining to you what exactly had transpired (your theory about them being related species correct) and you explaining yourself fully, agreed to let you and Malcolm go providing his ship could actually find Enterprise again.

But for the meanwhile back to the holding cell, this time joined by Malcolm who seemed alright. He'd apparently answered the same questions with the same answers near enough and that had convinced the General the Enterprise had been deceived and wasn't guilty of conspiring with the Trollarians as he'd initially suspected.

And that's where it all went wrong for you both.

After about an hour of sitting and chatting in your cell, the ship rocked with the sound and vibrations of explosions.

Big explosions.

Very big explosions.

And then the Trollarians bust into the room, dressed in bright red armour and armed with disruptor weapons neither of you had ever seen.

They all but disintegrated a quarter of your cell, releasing you, presumable killing the guards in the process.

And so you ran, trying to avoid the chaos around you as the other species fired back.

You and Malcolm were caught in the deadly crossfire, as various aliens hit the decks with terminal injuries. And then Malcolm got caught out.

A close explosion had knocked both of you off of your feet and as you'd scrambled to take cover Malcolm took a direct phase rifle hit to his chest off of a Trollarian who was promptly gunned down by his opposition.

You can't remember much after that aside from scrambling to get Malcolm on his feet.

At some point the Trollarians had gotten you onto their vessel and cramped you into your cabin you're in now. Healers swiftly tended to Malcolm and then left.

That's when time started working normally again; with the sound of that blasted clock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

The locks to the cabin are on the other side and there's no telling when you're going to be let out.

You only hope it's going to be soon, most likely when either the Trollarians have escaped their enemies or/and they've found Enterprise.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: This is a non-profit fan based fiction based upon Star Trek: Enterprise. Please support the official release.

Following discussions and brain storming with friends I decided to turn this original one shot into a longer story arc. Thank you to my viewers and readers of the original one shot (Chapter One) for your support. I am without a Beta Reader for the time being so any and all mistakes are purely my own.

* * *

The light gets brighter in the cramped space.

It takes you a minute to realise that you're not aboard _Enterprise_ as you first thought you were. You're not in your quarters watching a game of water polo with Trip and Travis, laughing and joking and enjoying a round of beers.

It was just a dream; a really _really_ nice dream.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

How on earth did you fall asleep in the first place?

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You've almost become acclimatised to it's presence and at least this time it actually serves a purpose. It informs you that you've been asleep for just over a Trollarian hour which you recall is two hours of Earth time. Hoshi mentioned it to you after she'd figured it out.

But two hours? You must have been more tired than you thought. Or maybe it's that wretched clock hypnotising you, numbing your senses.

You wish Hoshi was here now, well anyone from Enterprise right about now would be nice.

T'Pol. Trip. Hoshi. Travis. Porthos. Phlox. Especially Phlox.

You could really do with a second set of eyes encase you doze off again, someone to wake you up and keep you talking.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You carefully check Malcolm over again, checking his pulse, his respiration, that horrible injury on his chest.

The colour drains rapidly from your face.

Your heart skips a couple of beats and you intake a sharp breath.

He's getting weaker.

The sticky pad on his chest that appeared to be helping him earlier is now completely stained a disturbing combination of yellow and red blotches and smears and it smells weird; a disgusting bad weird.

You don't understand why that didn't immediately leap out at you as a warning when you first woke up.

Were you really that under that your mind took forever to boot up again?

Why couldn't you stay awake?

Malcolm needs you and you're falling asleep on duty! You're his captain! You're supposed to be looking after him!

Throwing those evil cynical voices to the very back of your mind, you forget that they leapt up from somewhere. Humans are oh so doubting of themselves, so prone to thinking of the worse possible things. How often have you warned Malcolm about doing that? Thinking along that trail of thoughts?

You have to wake him up.

Duty.

Life or death.

Pick one.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Snap back to reality entirely.

You ask yourself, with ferocity born from your officer's injuries, what the hell do the Trollarians think they're playing at? Keeping you caged up in here? Why did they even come after you? Is this some sort of sick joke? Leaving you without food or water or medical supplies? How long until you're released from your prison cell? Do they actually care at all? Are they even still out there outside of your confines?

Casting those thoughts aside also, you turn your attention back to Malcolm.

You need to get him conscious again.

Reaching over him, you place a gentle hand on his left shoulder and give him a slight shake.

"Lieutenant."

It's a firm yet gentle command.

"Malcolm, wake up."

Another shake, more firm.

"Malcolm," you say to him, raising your voice up a few decibels.

You need him to wake up.

If anything, and you mentally kick yourself for this, you could've done with Malcolm's assistance sooner.

Malcolm always was uncanny when it came to your seemingly numerous escapes from danger and you know that there's more to his knowledge and prowess than meets the eye. That's always been the case with Malcolm. He's always been the enigmatic Englishman even after he'd opened up. He talks and gives small glimpses but never tells the whole story. He's so secretive and tight-lipped. You remember speaking to his parents and how they never realised he'd joined Enterprise until you told them yourself.

There's no doubt in your mind right now that Malcolm can bust you both out of this joint if you can get him to wake up.

Another shake of his shoulder and an even firmer call of his name and you still don't get a response.

You may have left it too late to get him to wake up and speak and yet he may well be your only chance of getting both of you to safety.

Think, Jonathan Archer. Think!

Another shake of his shoulder and you're about to call it a day when he finally responds.

A groan, set deep in his throat.

A slight flutter of his eyelids.

You've got him!

Your heart skips a beat again, hoping this isn't a fluke.

"That's it, Malcolm," you say reassuringly.

Right now it's the only thing you can do; keep your armoury officer going. Keep him alive until the monotony ends.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

"C'mon, Malcolm," you urge, "wake up, that's it."

And like the loyal obedient officer that he is, he does so, obeying your order and forcing himself awake with any and all strength he has left that he can muster together.

It's taking him considerable effort to carry out the order you've asked of him, perhaps energy he can't afford to be wasting.

Unknowingly you've matched your breathing rate to his.

Maybe to help encourage him, maybe to get him to fall into line, maybe to help yourself remain calm, maybe just maybe it's because deep down you hang onto that hope that he's going to wind you up with a joke and a trademark smirk.

Either which way or any, you smile as his eyelids flutter open fully and his eyes take in the scene above him, staring blankly up at you, not recognising that human blur as his commandeering officer.

"Malcolm, can you hear me?"

He doesn't even recognise you yet. How is he suppose to understand you audibly?

But it gives you a small amount of comfort and it does seem to help him from your perspective as those steely grey eyes latch on your shape and focus on you.

He blinks a couple more times.

It's now or never.

"Malcolm?" you ask tentatively.

"Sir?"

His voice is dry and hoarse, barely a whisper, but he's back with you. It's a start.

A sharp breath rattles through his chest.

"Where are we?" he asks, and you hate the vulnerability you hear in his voice.

He's normally so strong and now here he lies, broken and in poor health.

How the hell do you answer him?

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: This is a non profit fan written fiction.

This chapter contains heavy spoliers for Season Two. Any and all mistakes are purely my own. Please R & R.

* * *

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You're transfixed.

You're stumped, stupefied in thought.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

In retrospect, it's a relatively straight forward answer; you're both trapped in a small space aboard an alien vessel somewhere deep in outer space.

But the reality of your situation, the consequences of giving him that answer in his current state...the answer is way more complicated, has many more variables, has to consider the psychological implications and repercussions.

The weight of the situation makes this all that more difficult. If only Malcolm weren't so badly injured then telling him would be easy, a piece of cake.

But no matter what you tell yourself to get out of replying, you have to tell him something.

He's relying on you.

You, Jonathan Archer, have brought him back to consciousness, and now it's your job to look after him and that means responding to his questions.

You must answer him.

Your good friend.

Your armoury officer.

Your family member.

You're transfixed by his eyes as your mind ticks over furiously, trying to work out what is the most appropriate answer to tell him.

Malcolm's eyes bear that one question so prominently it hides the pain, the shock, the full extent of his suffering.

All you see is confusion swirling behind that question.

And is that a hint of curiosity you also see in those blue grey irises?

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You need to answer him. Tell him where he is. Will you deny that information he has requested?

Can you actually give him any response?

Willing yourself to speak, you give him a reply.

"We're back on the Trollarian ship."

The words tumble easily from your mouth.

So easy.

You relax a little as you realise you don't have to tell him the whole truth. It's not worth getting him worked up, putting his life in further jeopardy. You don't want Malcolm to die, not like this.

But that's not so easy to shake as you see the pain rush back into his eyes following that momentary distraction.

His injuries have a pungent stench now, Malcolm is pale and fragile, he's a mess, a damaged wreck of a human being.

And that scares you to the core.

When did his injuries start giving off that odour?

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Time has lost it's purpose.

It's meaning.

You could and most likely are going to lose him and there's nothing you can do about it. The bruises and grazes on your knuckles are a testament to that.

You pray no more questions spill from his fractured lips, that he doesn't speak again until help arrives, until you can actually do something to help him.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

He's looking up at you.

He's afraid; Malcolm is afraid he is going to die.

You smile and somehow it looks genuine.

"You're not going to die, Malcolm," you tell him authoritatively.

Of course you won't let him die and he knows that. He learnt that lesson after being pinned to the Enterprise's hull by that Romulan mine, after he'd tried to commit suicide to stop you from saving him because he believed there was no point. He'd honestly believed he was a dead man and yet you hung on and saved him from himself.

He hangs onto that even to this day.

That day with the mine made him to a three-sixty degrees turn to how he regarded you and the rest of the crew. No longer was he just the armoury officer who stuck to his duties and never let anyone in. He was a member of the crew, and he deserved to die no more than anyone else.

"Everything's going to be fine," you reiterate, "we'll be back on board Enterprise before you know it."

You reach out and start stroking his forehead.

It seems like a natural logical thing to do in this situation and it stops your hands from shaking, helps enhance the illusion that every little thing will be okay and this will just be another of those adventures you'll laugh about in weeks to come when he's out of sickbay.

But you know nothing gets past Malcolm.

You know that he can pick up on every one of your emotions, on your state of mind. He doesn't need to be telepathic to tell; he just can. It's part and parcel of what makes him so good at his job. He can read people as easily as reading a children's book. He just doesn't say anything unless it's important.

Yet right now you can read him more easily than a children's book.

He's terrified and that terrifies you.

You've never ever seen him so scared before. You can't even begin to imagine just how much pain he's actually in right now.

"Everything's going to be fine," you say again.

It's for both of your benefit; a mantra of sorts.

Another sharp uneasy breath rattles through him.

His breaths are so slight you're surprised he hasn't passed out from lack of substantial oxygen.

It must be that British grit that's keeping him going.

"What happened...Sir?" he asks.

A smile briefly graces your features; even mortally wounded, he's a stickler for protocol and rank.

Good old Malcolm.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Your heart breaks again and you really wish that this scenario was the one with the Romulan mine. At least he was stapled to Enterprise and within EV suit distance of Phlox.

"It's a long story," you tell him.

Is that seriously the best you can come out with?

"The Trollarians attacked, they tried to get us out. You were injured in the process," you further explain and you find yourself tensing up as you say the last sentence.

"Bloody typical," he mutters and you swear he's just rolled his eyes under half closed eyelids.

You can't help but chuckle. His aptness for comedic timing, intentional or otherwise has always been spot on target and your muscles relax.

"They're taking us back to Enterprise. You just need to hang on in there," you tell him, lying all the way.

Oh what fun it is to lie to your tactical officer whose going to die.

Your thoughts drift back to all your other joint escapades.

Trouble always seems to follow your crew like a moth to a flame, and Malcolm in particular as you come to realise. Something's always out to get him, be it himself, an alien, the scenery. You could almost say that his life is like a slap stick comedy movie.

You quickly loose count how many times Malcolm has ended up in sickbay. That said you and Trip are just as bad for nicks and cuts. It's not just your tactical officer who has a target drawn on his back, and yes you've all made fun of it. You recall one occasion where Malcolm, Trip, Hoshi, and Travis had taken bets on what injuries the Lieutenant would next pick up.

It was just one of those things, one of those Enterprise clichés.

Over the course of your time serving alongside him you've learnt so much about the Englishman, especially his sense of duty and just how deep his dedication to his job and the people he serves with runs.

And there in lies another of his traits; he's an optimist in tough no-win situations, except for the Shuttlepod incident that one time, but you believe that was the event that changed his perspective.

He believes in good endings in tough situations, not necessarily happy endings, but agreeable endings where everyone gets away from whatever disaster you've warped into. He believes there will always be a positive outcome, no matter how unlikely.

He can't give in.

Case in point being that pre warp world you visited and lost a communicator. There you were as a result, in that prison, detained as perceived genetically altered agents of another faction, sentenced to die so your internal organs could be dissected and your corpses examined in excruciating detail.

Yet he never stopped believing that a rescue party would save you both.

And he was right.

You have no idea how he does it but maybe now would be a good time to embrace his idea of sweet escape.

Is it a British thing? You don't know. But if it was in the form of an injection you'd take it full-heartedly.

Don't make him do his usual trick, he's the one trying to stay alive, he doesn't need to keep you alive also.

You have to do a Malcolm.

You have to believe that Trip, T'Pol and Travis are going to spring you free any moment now.

Show some shields, hide your true beliefs, tap into your inner optimism or at the very least mimic Malcolm's optimism and pretend.

Do you honestly believe that your crew will abandon you, that they won't find you in time? What good is a captain who doubts their own crew?

And maybe, you think as you mull it over, just maybe that's what Malcolm clings to. It's that trust and belief in one's friends. And now you think you understand your British friend that little bit more.

Once you get back to Enterprise, once Malcolm's back on his feet, you'll talk to him about it. You'll ask him about it.

Yes.

Yes.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

You'll ask him about it.

Because you think you may understand now.

"How bad?" he asks, another sharp breath rattling through him.

It snaps you back.

It's just dawned on you that you've been stroking his forehead this whole time, and neither of you have any objections to the touch.

Maybe he understands more than you do, maybe he knows that you need the contact. Maybe he needs it also.

"Bad enough," you reply quietly.

You stop stroking his forehead only to check his temperature.

He feels a little cold.

"I can take it, Sir." he replies.

You have no option but to tell him the truth.

"You were shot in the chest with some sort of weapon. It made a right mess. The Trollarians placed some sort of sticky healing pad over it."

He seizes up.

He's trying to take a decent breath.

"Malcolm!"

You're alarmed!

You don't know what to do!

What can you do?!

He lets out a strangled cry, a hiss of pain.

His features are overloaded as pain receptors fire at full force all over his body.

You're helpless!

You take a gentle hold of his shoulders, lean over him, trying to ascertain how you can help.

Subconsciously you begin rubbing his shoulders and arms.

His muscles taut and rigid.

"Malcolm!"

He gasps for air, trying to get whatever air he can.

He thinks he's going to die!

He's in sheer agony!

"Malcolm!"

Then it stops.

You freeze mid action.

He takes another shuddering breath and then like a pressurised air hose after a valve is opened, his body slackens its vice like grip and he's left gasping, barely conscious.

You ask yourself what the hell just happened?

"Malcolm?" you ask, unable to hide your deep fried on edge emotions.

He slips unconscious.

"Malcolm!"

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.


End file.
